


Magic in a Bottle

by lordmxrphy



Series: magic in a bottle (drabbles & oneshots inspired by prompts on tumblr) [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hogwarts AU, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Prompts and drabbles, WWII AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-06-05 15:21:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6710299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordmxrphy/pseuds/lordmxrphy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A compilation of drabbles based on prompts I received on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. WWII AU (part one)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **“I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified”**
> 
>  
> 
> A vague WWII setting in which Bellamy goes off to war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> based on the prompt sent in by auri-elle on tumblr :)
> 
> (disclaimer: this is not meant to be historically accurate. I'm focusing on the feeling more than the setting. I by no means claim that this is an accurate representation of the time.)

Golden sun lights the day. The air smells like freshly cut grass. A breeze carries laughter from down the street. And Bellamy is standing on Clarke’s doorstep, hopeless and broken, with a letter clutched in his hand. 

Bumps rise on Clarke’s arms. She feels cold despite the late summer heat.

The enlistment notice flutters to the ground when Clarke pulls Bellamy inside. The door shuts behind him with a click and for a moment they just stand there. Speechless. 

(What do you say in a situation like this? No one ever taught Clarke the right words for when her heart is breaking.)

There’s nothing to say so Clarke kisses Bellamy instead. His hands find her waist and he pulls her in, kissing her back like she’s the ocean and he wants to drown. 

Bellamy’s hand slides into her hair. He walks Clarke back until she’s pressed against the wall. His tongue traces the inside of her mouth. She sighs against his lips.

When Bellamy pulls away, they’re both breathing heavy. Clarke curls her fingers into his belt loops. A lump rises in her throat when she sees the glass in his eyes. He's looking at her like she’s his last wish in this world.

“When do you leave?” she asks quietly.

Bellamy’s jaw clenches.

“Tomorrow.”

Clarke’s breath catches. One day. That’s all she gets, one day before Bellamy gets shipped off to war.

She had known this might happen. The evidence of the war was everywhere. You couldn’t hide from it. It was there in the rationing of fuel. In the trembling hands of men and boys when they received their letters. Already, Clarke knows of too many mothers with pins instead of sons. Condolences instead of the boys they’d raised. 

So, yes, Clarke had known this might happen, but she’d still hoped and wished and prayed that somehow it wouldn’t. 

She’s only known Bellamy for three months. The thought makes her heart ache. Three months is not enough time.

Clarke met Bellamy the day her car broke down. She’d shown up at the garage where he worked and Bellamy had laughed when he saw her. Hair in a blonde tangle of knots sticking to her neck. Grease stains on her hands and her dress. 

A month later, it was Bellamy’s hands leaving grease stains on Clarke’s chin when he kissed her for the first time beneath the docks by the pier. He’d smelled like motor oil and tasted like saltwater.

The tears on Bellamy’s lips remind Clarke of that day. Bellamy kisses her again, messy and desperate. The heat of his hand burns through her sundress. Clarke’s breath hitches and she catches Bellamy’s bottom lip with her teeth. His groan is muffled in the space between their mouths.

If one night is all Clarke gets, she’s going to make the most of it. They part with a sigh and Clarke threads her fingers with Bellamy’s.

She takes a step towards the stairs and tugs Bellamy’s hand to pull him with her. Bellamy frowns. Clarke tilts her head and nods at the stairs. She smiles, weak, but sincere. Bellamy’s face melts into surprise when it clicks.

“Clarke…” he starts.

She stares at their hands and shifts her feet.

“You’re leaving tomorrow,” Clarke whispers. Her words break her own heart. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, but,” she pauses. Bellamy waits as she struggles for words, “But it’s your last night and I want to spend it with you.”

When Clarke looks up, Bellamy’s expression is raw and open and her heart aches in response. Bellamy steps forward and kisses her slow and steady. 

It’s forever and not nearly long enough when Bellamy's mouth releases her. He rests his forehead against her temple and swallows hard, his eyes falling shut.

“Are you sure?” he asks.

“Yes,” she breathes, “Are you?” 

Bellamy smiles, soft and sad, and kisses the freckle on Clarke’s upper lip.

“I’m always sure about you.”

They spend that night entwined in Clarke’s bed. Hot skin and trailing touches beneath pink sheets. 

Night saps heat from the air, but Bellamy is all warmth. 

Clarke doesn’t sleep, unwilling to sacrifice a second she has left with Bellamy and he seems to feel the same way. They spend the night exchanging words and kisses in the place of dreams. 

“Promise you’ll write,” she whispers into his bare chest. 

His breath warms her ear.

“I promise.”

“Promise you won’t do anything stupid.”

“I promise.”

“Promise you’ll come back,” her voice breaks. 

Clarke knows that’s not something Bellamy can guarantee. But when Bellamy kisses her instead of answering, it still feels like a promise. 

He turns them over and Clarke’s hair spills across the pillow as Bellamy’s settles between her legs.

He drags his lips across her jaw and kisses his way down her neck. He pauses to press his lips against her heart and Clarke lets the words she’s been holding back crest on her tongue. (If she doesn’t say them now, she never will.)

“I think I’m in love with you.” 

Bellamy freezes, mouth against her skin. Slowly, he pulls back and meets Clarke’s eyes. He looks at her like she’s his wish come true and Clarke hates that this moment is colored by fear. She hates that Bellamy is the first person she’s ever been in love with and that in the morning he’s leaving to fight another man’s war.

Her voice shakes, “I think I’m in love with you and I’m terrified I might lose you.”

Bellamy’s heart is in his eyes. Messy and tangled and perfect. 

“I can’t lose you,” she whispers.

“You won’t,” he says, firm. Sure.

“You don’t know that—”

Bellamy kisses her. A promise and a prayer. 

“You won’t lose me, Clarke,” he says when they break, breathless, “I love you.”

The next morning, Bellamy curls a hand around the back of Clarke’s neck on the porch and kisses her one last time.

“I love you,” he whispers, forehead heavy against her own.

“I love you,” she replies, sadness heavy in her throat. 

Clarke watches as Bellamy climbs into his truck and turns on the engine. She watches him drive off down her street and stays on the porch until morning fades into day and the sun bakes the ground. Clarke stands on her porch and hopes against hope that this isn’t the last time she gets to tell Bellamy those words.


	2. WWII AU (part two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: "please please please write a follow up to your WWII fic? where maybe bellamy comes home?"

Her plane touches down with a bump and coasts on the tarmac. 

There are empty eyes in the young soldier beside Clarke. The war is over, but the body count is not. 

Clarke wonders if there’s a scar where her heart should be. For the past two years, she’s watched good men, young men, men with their whole lives ahead of them, and men with families back home, die. On the field. In her arms. On a cot in the hospital. She’s also seen men who didn't die but wished they had. And in each face, she saw Bellamy's. 

She signed on as a nurse because Clarke was never someone who could sit at home while other people risked their lives. So, instead, she went with them. Not because she loved her country or believed in this war, but because she loved Bellamy and knew that each man on that field had a person or a family at home who loved them too.

Her father’s hug is tight and smells like stale cigarettes when she comes out of the airport. Her mother is notably absent and Clarke is glad for the reprieve before the inevitable blow up.

Clarke’s mother hadn't wanted her to go. Clarke had just been starting her second year of college and her mother didn’t want her risking her life in a war. There had been threats, yelling, but, in the end, Clarke was nineteen and nothing could stop her.

On the drive home, Clarke pulls Bellamy’s latest letter from her pocket and unfolds the paper carefully. It's dated four months ago and she hasn't heard from him since. 

Her fingers trace the crowded lines made by his pen. She lingers on the last line. 

_I love you and I'm coming home to you._

He ended every letter the same way. With that promise of a future together.

A tear tracks a line down Clarke's chin. She tucks the letter away before her sadness can mar the ink.

(She hasn't heard from Bellamy in four months and she doesn’t want to think about what that might mean.)

Clarke swallows her sadness and interrupts the warm silence between her and her father. 

"Dad? Would you mind dropping me off somewhere? I know I was supposed to come home, but--"

"Sweetheart,” her dad’s smile is sad, “I understand. I’m not the only one you missed. Just come home tomorrow, alright? I know you and your mother didn't part on good terms, but she loves you and she's been worried."

Clarke turns to look out the window, but she nods. She directs her dad to get off at the next exit.

They pull up in front of a small, weathered house. The shutters are barely hanging on and the paint is peeling. But seeing the house brings Clarke a sense of peace. She kisses her father on the cheek and gets out of the car. She leaves her suitcase in the trunk and smooths the wrinkles in her skirt. Her palms are clammy when she knocks on the front door.

It swings open, the hinges creaking, and Octavia Blake's mouth drops in surprise when she sees who’s on her doorstep.

"Clarke?"

The younger girl’s arms are around Clarke between one breath and the next. Clarke clutches her back tightly. Octavia may have stayed at home, but she's been through a war of her own. Octavia’s barely a year past eighteen and just six months ago she lost her mother. And she did it all alone, her brother across an ocean fighting a very different kind of war.

Clarke smoothes a lock of hair behind Octavia's ear. They'd only known each other for a month when Bellamy left and not much longer when Clarke, herself, shipped off. But they'd corresponded. Exchanging letters that brought them closer despite the thousands of miles between them. 

At first, Octavia’s letters had been full of stories about school, and dances, and boys. Later, the stories were mainly about taking care of her mother and the weight of a worry two-fold with both a brother and a mother fighting battles Octavia desperately didn't want them to lose.

"I didn't know you were coming back today,” Octavia says when she pulls away.

"I didn’t know either until recently. Have you heard from--" Clarke starts, but she’s interrupted. 

Loud footfalls echo down the stairs. Heavy boots, blue jeans, and a deep voice that Clarke has only heard in her dreams for the past two years.

"O, have you seen my--" Bellamy cuts off when he reaches the bottom of the stairs and looks up, locking eyes with Clarke still standing in his doorway. 

Clarke's eyes blur and it feels like just a heartbeat before Bellamy's arms are pulling her in and lifting her off her feet. He tucks his chin into her hair and her lips find the place on his shoulder where the collar of his shirt has slipped. 

His arms are tight and her throat is thick with tears because after all this time he's here. He's here, whole and warm and more than just the memory she's turned over a million and one times in her head. She feels Bellamy’s chest expand as he breathes. Her toes touch down, but he doesn't let go. They cling to each other and Clarke barely notices Octavia disappear into the kitchen to give the couple some desperately needed privacy. 

"You're here," she breathes, caught between the need to laugh and the need to cry. Relief warms her bones.

"I promised I’d come home to you," he scrapes. He pulls back to kiss her. 

Bellamy’s mouth chases the sadness from her bones and holds the ghosts at bay. He kisses her deep and full until the cracks inside Clarke fill and all she's thinking about is how Bellamy’s mouth tastes like coffee and his hair is too short now for her to grip with her fingers. 

Clarke kisses Bellamy back like she’s trying to make up for every lost second and every missed moment. Bellamy kept all his promises and he’s _here_ , solid, more than just words on paper, more than just a memory determined to fade.

The past two years, all Clarke had of Bellamy were his letters. They wrote to each other every chance they got. His letters were often spotted with mud or smeared with raindrops and her letters came stained with blood, nothing but a page of scribbles written in the spare moments she had between patients. But they'd written and Clarke never lost her faith--her trust--in Bellamy and the promise he made to her all those months ago.

When they part, Bellamy's mouth is red and his eyes are dark and Clarke doesn’t ever want to stop looking at him. 

That night, Clarke, Octavia, and Bellamy have dinner around the Blake’s kitchen table, exchanging pieces of their lives. Clarke knows the names of the boys Bellamy fought with and most of his stories from his letters but it's different in person. It’s different when she can see his half-smile as he talks about the cards his unit played in cramped tents and the way they drank any and all alcohol they could get ahold of. 

Clarke hugs Octavia when she tells her that her high school graduation is in a month and she wants Clarke to come. Over Octavia’s shoulder, Clarke catches the look on Bellamy’s face. Pure pride. 

Clarke hesitates before mentioning that she wants to go back to college. The life she used to have feels so far away. Bellamy's hand finds her beneath the table and the warmth of his palm and the callous of his fingers soothes her.

Octavia offers to do the dishes and Clarke smiles her thanks before Bellamy pulls her up the stairs. Nerves and excitement twist and bloom inside her. 

His room is lit by moonlight and Clarke takes a moment to look around. His uniform is draped across his desk chair, his duffel bag shoved underneath the desk. It’s the only piece of the room that like it changed recently. Clarke smiles at overflowing shelves and the stacks of books covering every inch and corner. The room smells like books and paper and Bellamy. This was how Clarke knew him. The summer they met Bellamy had been a boy who always had a book with him. On the seat of his truck or folded into the back pocket of his jeans. His books were well-loved. Soaked for everything they were worth. Seeing Bellamy's room is like seeing part of the boy she fell in love with two years ago. It’s seeing part of who he is still. 

Clarke turns and kisses him, a soft smile pulling at her mouth. They fall into bed, tumbling into white sheets that smell like laundry. It’s a few hours before either of them sleeps. They've been running on dreams for long enough.

Ghosts cling to their skin. Death’s shroud hangs heavy on their shoulders with the weight of what they've seen. But between Bellamy and Clarke, there's an understanding. They’ve both seen tragedies and they both lived to make it back to one another. Clarke knows death, but Bellamy does too. They bear the scars of the war, visible and invisible, on their bodies. Bellamy’s deaf in one ear from a bomb that went off too close and Clarke's nights are often plagued by nightmares of the men and boys she couldn't save. But together they find forgiveness. Together, they find relief. 

Clarke wakes up in Bellamy's arms. Something she didn't know if she would ever get to do. She looks up and finds Bellamy watching her, already awake. 

"I love you," she rasps.

It’s not the first time she’s said the words. She whispered them into his skin last night. Bellamy kissed them across her collarbone. It was a deep, ingrained truth. One Clarke felt deep in her bones. But, in the morning light, with the rest of their lives ahead of them, the words feel more than true. They feel like hope.

Sun lights the freckles on Bellamy’s cheeks and he brushes a curl from Clarke's face. His fingers trace a path down her shoulder and leave goose bumps in their wake.

"Marry me," he whispers.

Clarke’s breath catches and she pushes up on her elbows, turning her whole body to face him. Her eyes are wide and her heart takes off at a run.

"Marry me," Bellamy repeats, leaning down to kiss Clarke. 

His mouth tastes like morning. She wants to kiss him every morning for the rest of her life. She doesn't even need to stop to think about her answer.

"Yes," she breathes against his mouth, voice still ragged with sleep. 

She says the word again and again as she kisses his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids. A laugh bubbles out of Bellamy’s chest. Bright and happy and the most beautiful sound in the world. 

They’re both smiling when Bellamy pulls her into a slow and languid kiss. His fingers grip her waist and her hand cradles his jaw. 

Clarke feels something settle in her chest. The sea quieting after a storm. A bright sunrise on the horizon. 

A thought crosses her mind and she knows, without a doubt, that it’s true. 

_They’re home._


	3. Feels Like Magic (A Hogwarts AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **The way you said I love you: A taunt, with one eyebrow raised and a grin bubbling at your lips** (sent in by andrevvminyard  <3)
> 
> Bellamy Blake gets sorted into Gryffindor while Clarke ends up in Slytherin, and everyone, including McGonagall herself, thinks a rivalry between the two is inevitable.

Clarke gets on the Hogwarts express at eleven years old, her blonde braid a straight line down her back, already rearing for a fight. Whispers follow her down the aisle, but she keeps her gaze ahead and her hands tucked by her sides. She doesn't let herself reach for Wells' hand. She doesn't allow herself to show weakness.

By the time she and Wells find an empty carriage, everyone knows Clarke Griffin is on her way to Hogwarts. Infamy is part of the package when your former death eater mother murders your father and gets locked up in Azkaban for life.

People gawk at her and Clarke hears her name passed around in hushed whispers when the first years gather outside the Great Hall. 

She decides enough is enough when a boy with black curly hair and too many freckles to count whispers "Her mom did _what_?" too loudly to the boy beside him. Clarke's not going to spend her entire time at Hogwarts hoping people won’t talk about her behind her back. They’re going to do it either way, so she might as well give them something to talk about.

She knows a few charms from the formative years she spent at the Jaha’s, surrounded by magic while she and Wells’ tested their own. But, as it turns out, Bellamy Blake, the boy she picks a fight with and a muggle-born hungry to prove himself, knows a few spells of his own. 

McGonagall’s face is hard when she catches them. Clarke’s hair is singed and Bellamy is hanging upside down in mid-air. They both get detention before the sorting hat even lands on their heads. 

Bellamy Blake gets placed Gryffindor while Clarke Griffin ends up in Slytherin, and everyone, including McGonagall herself, thinks a rivalry between the two is inevitable. 

And they’re right... mostly. 

Bellamy and Clarke compete in everything. They race each other to master charms and dare one another to enter the Forbidden Forest. More than once, they end up in the hospital wing after a duel, Clarke vomiting butterflies and Bellamy laughing uncontrollably. 

They’re two kids desperate prove themselves, though for very different reasons. Clarke wants to step outside the shadow of her mother’s crime, while Bellamy wants people to know he deserves to go to Hogwarts, despite being the first wizard in his family. (He already knew how to cast a flame charm his first night because he’d been studying his magic books all summer long.) And when they both make their respective quidditch teams their fourth year, Clarke as a chaser and Bellamy as a keeper, the whole school becomes an audience to their encounters.

But, somewhere along the line, their insults lose their ire, and they both start hiding more smiles than scorn. 

They become friends in the most bizarre of terms. Clarke learns Bellamy’s birthday and smuggles donuts and reese's pieces (Bellamy’s favorite muggle treats) into his dormitory, leaving them on his bed for him to find. During the week surrounding her father’s death, Bellamy is a silent, steadying presence by Clarke’s side. They don’t acknowledge the date, but Bellamy hexes anyone who so much as looks at Clarke the wrong way. 

It’s a friendship coated in curses--in jibes and tripping charms. Clarke hexes Bellamy so he loses his hair and he turns Clarke’s hair pink. 

(“It was supposed to be red,” he grumbles to Miller later on, “It wasn’t supposed to look _good_.”)

...

It’s smack dab in the middle of the quidditch pitch on a cold, sunny October day during their sixth year when ‘friends’ stops being the best word for what Bellamy and Clarke are to each other.

The Slytherin team is about to lift off onto their brooms to start practice when Clarke hears Bellamy call her name.

“Hey, Griffin! Get off the pitch!”

Murphy rolls his eyes at Clarke’s pathetic attempt to swallow her smile. They all turn to find the Gryffindor team striding towards them, led, of course, by Bellamy.

“This is Slytherin’s practice time,” Clarke calls back.

“Did you reserve the pitch?” Bellamy asks, already knowing the answer.

Clarke grits her teeth, “No.”

“Well, I did. Looks like you guys need to find another practice time.”

“This was our practice time all last year. You did this on purpose!”

Bellamy just smirks.

Clarke crosses her arms, “You’re insufferable.”

"You love me," Bellamy taunts, cocking an eyebrow.

Clarke's heart trips but she keeps her voice steady and her arms folded tightly in front of her chest. 

She scoffs, "You wish."

Bellamy takes a step forward, "You'd be bored out of your mind without me." A grin tips his lips.

"Would not," she replies, petulant, nails digging into her arm when Bellamy takes another step forward and she has to angle her head back to look at him.

"Would too," he breathes, close enough that she can smell the hot chocolate on his breath. 

They're nose to nose on the quidditch pitch and it feels like everyone and everything, even the air itself, stops to hold its breath. 

Bellamy’s so close his freckles stand out like stars in a pitch black sky. He’s so close that when Clarke’s eyes flick to his mouth, she notices a faint scar on his upper lip she's never seen before.

There’s a pause in which Clarke's heart thunders in her ears and her mind whirs before she makes a split second decision.

She grabs Bellamy by the collar pulls him down. He crashes against her lips. The angle is awkward and the kiss is mostly teeth at first but then Bellamy’s fingers tilt Clarke's chin and his tongue slides along her lips. Suddenly, they're _kissing_ and it feels like magic. 

It feels like the first time Clarke made flowers bloom on her bedroom floor. Like the first time she'd ridden a broom, wind tangling her hair and Wells’ cheering beneath her. 

Bellamy kisses her like he's been waiting for years--like he's been fighting this feeling as long as Clarke has. Both of them hiding behind jinxes and jibes. Dung bombs in Clarke’s book bag and a portable swamp in the Gryffindor boy's dormitory.

Miller wolf whistles behind them and Clarke and Bellamy part, soft-eyed and slick-lipped. Bellamy’s thumb brushes Clarke’s pink mouth.

“Does this mean we get the pitch now?” she asks, still breathless.

Bellamy lets go of her chin and laughs, “Not a chance.”

...

After that, they can't keep their hands off each other. They learn the castle’s secret passageways and figure out which aisles of the library are the ones where nobody goes. They get lost to find each other. 

In the beginning, it’s all desperate heat, shedding clothes as soon as they're alone, Bellamy dropping to his knees, and Clarke's hands knotting in his hair. Clarke catches Bellamy on his way to potions with the Ravenclaws and kisses him stupid, her hand snaking inside his trousers. He shows up late to class, hair mussed, and smile dopey. He gets the mixture wrong three times too distracted by the memory of Clarke and Raven nearly lets him singe off his own eyebrows in annoyance. 

Everyone already knows about them so they don't bother trying to hide what's going on. Bellamy comes to class more than once with an emerald and silver tie around his neck and Clarke wears his red and gold scarf more often than her own. 

Miller just rolls his eyes when he wakes up yet again to find Clarke and Bellamy curled around each other in Bellamy’s bed, Clarke’s mouth pressed against his shoulder and her arm curled around his waist. 

(The first time Miller woke up to the sight, he’d teased Bellamy for a week about being the little spoon. That is until Clarke told Bellamy Miller had a crush on Monty, her Ravenclaw herbology partner, and the two boys agreed to call a truce.)

Really, the only time Clarke and Bellamy wear their own colors is when they go against each other on the quidditch pitch. There, the threads of their old rivalry show themselves. 

"Hey Griffin, try not to get too distracted by my face while we're out there," Bellamy calls as the two teams rise into the air on their brooms.

"Lucky for you, Blake, I'll be moving too fast for you to have that problem," Clarke tosses back.

An hour into the game, Bellamy gets hit by a bludger, too focused on keeping Murphy from scoring to notice the ball headed straight for his head. He pulls up when he finally catches sight of the bludger, but he isn't been fast enough to avoid it completely and it clips his shoulder, shattering the bone.

He hits the ground hard, and Clarke drops to the ground beside him a split second later. The game plays on above them, but all she cares about in that moment is Bellamy. 

"Bloody hell," he hisses between clenched teeth.

Clarke kneels on the grass beside him, hands twitching like she doesn't know where she wants to put them-- like she needs to touch him everywhere all at once. She settles for brushing his sweaty curls back on his forehead. Bellamy turns his head at her soft touch and his pained brown eyes find her steady blue gaze.

"Who would've thought that it'd be Murphy’s face in the end that distracted me," he wheezes. 

Clarke huffs a laugh, rubbing at the mud splattered on his cheek. 

"I always thought you two had chemistry," Clarke whispers around the lump in her throat. Bellamy’s lips twitch, almost tilting into a smile before his shoulder throbs again and he curses.

The game must end, but Clarke doesn’t know which side caught the snitch. Their teammates give them a wide berth and Madam Hooch lands a moment later, conjuring a stretcher. Clarke stands with it as it starts to levitate and Bellamy doesn’t let go of her hand.

"I'm going with him," Clarke states with finality. Not a note of question in her voice.

No one argues with her. Bellamy passes out on the way to the hospital wing and Clarke waits by his bedside as Madam Pomfrey mends the bones in his shoulder. 

It's another hour before he wakes up. Wells and Raven bring Clarke books and a change of clothes while she waits. 

She's working on a History of Magic essay, quill scratching quickly across the paper, when she hears Bellamy’s breathing shift. She looks up to see Bellamy blinking against the light, his brow crinkled in argument against the bright sun spilling in through the wide windows. 

The pucker in Bellamy's forehead vanishes when he catches sight of Clarke. She settles beside him on the bed. She lets out a breath of relief when he sits up, not even wincing when he puts weight on his shoulder. (Clarke trusts that Madame Pomfrey knows what she's doing, but. She was worried.) Bellamy’s calloused fingers find her ink-stained ones. 

"How are you feeling?" she asks, thumb brushing the backs of his knuckles.

"Like I got hit by a bludger and then had to get my bones refused," he rasps.

She snorts, "Asshole."

"You love me," he teases, just like he did all those months ago.

This time, though, Clarke's ready for him.

She smiles. "Yeah, I do."

The look on Bellamy’s face is priceless. He pulls her down a split second later into an eager kiss. Laughter mingles in their mouths. 

And, yeah, she really does.


	4. We Find Our Way Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt from anonymous: "bellarke + 'you’re pretending we’re still together because my relatives will disprove of the break up so you’re being all sweet it’s reminding me of why i fell in love with you in the first place'"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the fastest turn around I've had with a prompt, but I'm trying write more and I felt inspired. Leave me a comment if you like the story!

She waits until her mother's attention is on the next group of guests before dropping Bellamy's hand like it's made of fire. Bellamy glances at her, surprised, and she manages a weak smile before looking away. It’s too hard to look at him like this. Handsome in his black and white suit. Curls messy and mussed like he barely managed to run a comb through them. All night, they’ve been sharing looks and swallowing smiles. And it hurts how simple it is for Clarke to slip back into easy affection with Bellamy.

But this isn’t what they are anymore. Clarke lost this three months ago and when she goes home alone, the fresh memory of Bellamy’s thumb rubbing her knuckles and his laugh muffled against her hair will only make everything that much harder. Old patterns are too easy to fall into and Clarke’s unravelling at the paradox of something being so easy and so hard at the same time.

She takes a sip of her drink and tries to remember why she thought this was a good idea. Why she thought she could bring Bellamy to her mother’s wedding and not fall apart. 

She’d asked Bellamy if he’d come after her mother called two weeks ago. Clarke hadn’t told Abby that she and Bellamy broke up three months ago. She knew her mother would take the omission as a sign that she’d been right about Bellamy all along.

It was no secret that Abby disapproved when Clarke started dating Bellamy. Her mother didn’t think he was good for Clarke. They’d had countless fights before her mom finally backed off. And, now, admitting that they broke up would feel like admitting that she’d made a mistake. But Clarke didn’t regret one second with Bellamy. The only thing she regretted was letting him walk away.

That’s what makes tonight is so hard. Because Clarke still loves Bellamy. She can’t stop loving Bellamy. He’s kind and smart and good. Too good for her. (Maybe that's why they didn't work out in the end.)

...

When she and Bellamy got together, it was with a bang. 

Fireworks. The Fourth of July. Clarke pressed against the picnic blanket Bellamy brought for them to sit on. Raven throwing bits of watermelon at their heads and the two of them laughing into each other mouths. She’d felt like a teenager at twenty-four. Floating on hope and happiness. Heartbeat so loud it drowned out the firecrackers above. She’d felt so much joy that night she could have burst into brightness right along with them.

When she and Bellamy ended nearly a year later, it was with a whimper.

Clarke clutching the dish towel like she might be able to use it to clean up the mess they made of their hearts. 

When it ended, there wasn’t yelling or crying or much of anything at all. It ended with the soft click of the door and an empty echo in Clarke’s empty apartment. It ended with regret and Clarke wishing she could take back those last words that pushed him too far

_"You don't get it, Clarke. You just don't. Octavia's my sister. She's my only family. You don't know her."_

_"I know she hurt you. I know that I’m not going to pretend that what she did was okay."_

_"She was upset. She’s grieving."_

_"She hit you, Bellamy."_

_The sound of his sigh, pained and tired, will stick with her for weeks and months to come._

_"I can't do this."_

_“Fine, okay. Maybe we should just—Maybe we should just go to bed. Cool off. I can take the—"_

_"No, Clarke,” the tremor in his voice stops her. Something cold crawls into her throat. “I mean I can't do this. Us. You and me. I thought—I thought I could but I can't anymore. I—I'm sorry, Clarke."_

_The door clicks shut and suddenly he’s gone. Gone and Clarke still has the words she didn’t even have a chance to say stuffed in her mouth. Her first sob catches on ‘I’m sorry,’ her second on ‘I love you.’_

_(She doesn’t even get ‘goodbye’.)_

It’s painful, how easy it is. To just stop existing together. 

They break up and there’s no longer any reason for them to see each other. Bellamy never even comes by to retrieve the handful of boxers and t-shirts he left at her place. (The only evidence of the person Clarke thought might be _it_ for her doesn’t even fill up a whole drawer in her closet.) 

For two weeks she sleeps in his clothes and doesn’t change her sheets, chasing his smell on her pillow. But, just like Bellamy, it disappears without a trace.

...

When Clarke called him a couple weeks ago to ask if he would still come with her to the wedding, she hadn't expected his answer to be yes. 

They see each other from time to time at the bar where Raven's girlfriend works or when Monty has a party at his place. But they'd gone from kisses and caresses to small talk about the weather. It’s painful pretending that the person she’s still in love with is a stranger now somehow.

But if she thought that was bad, this is worse. A night of Bellamy with his arm around her. Bellamy with his hand in hers. Bellamy smiling at her, soft and fond. Bellamy leaning into her when she talks and tucking her hair behind her ear like he used to. Bellamy reminding her of all the little things her mind had been kind enough to let her forget. (Like the exact pattern of the freckles on his nose and the way it feels when their fingers intertwine.) 

Pretending they’re still together hurts more than she ever expected.She can't do it. She can't pretend that she's fine when Bellamy says her name, rolling it around on his tongue like he missed the taste. A detail that small shouldn’t feel like a knife her chest. But it does. It does it does it does.

_She can’t do this._

Clarke escapes as soon as she can, not bothering to check to see if her mother is paying attention. She can’t bring herself to care. Her mom’s going to find out eventually anyway. Her ‘I told you so,’ is inevitable.

Clarke pushes through the first exit she finds outside the reception hall. She climbs the stairs until she finds a door that leads out onto the roof.

Her shoes click on the concrete and she takes a deep breath as soon as she’s outside. The muggy summer heat has cooled off and the night feels warm and fresh. Fireflies flicker like stars in the distance and Clarke sits down on the dirty concrete, her light blue dress crumpling beneath her.

She lies back on the roof with a sigh, ignoring the pinch of the bobby pins holding up her hair. She takes a long, slow breath and counts to ten before letting it out. She blinks away the sting in her eyes and swallows around the lump in her throat that just won't leave. 

She misses him. God, she misses Bellamy so much that her heart aches.

She misses him first thing in the morning and right before she falls asleep. She misses the way he used to kiss her and the way he used to look at her when she laughed at one of his jokes. She misses his smile. His laugh. His rants about Greek mythology. She misses—

"Clarke?" 

She misses the way he used to say her name followed by ‘I love you.’

The door to the roof slams shut behind Bellamy and Clarke closes her eyes. A tear slips down her cheek without her permission. She sits up, clearing her throat and wiping her cheek as casually as she can.

But it’s Bellamy and they may have broken up three months ago, but he still knows all her tells.

"Clarke, I’m—"

"Please don't,” she whispers, standing up and brushing off her dress. Not strong enough yet to look at him, “I can't take your pity right now."

She hears him take a few steps before stopping. He lets out a breath and she hates that she knows him so well that she has no trouble figuring out what he must be doing. They may have only dated for ten months but they were friends for years before that. She can practically see him running a hand through his hair and swallowing like he always does when he’s trying to find the right words. 

" _Fuck_. I'm sorry, Clarke. I wouldn't have come if I thought it would hurt you. I was just hoping..." he trails off and Clarke has no idea how he was planning to end that sentence. 

She turns to look at him. His tie is hanging loose around his neck and his hair is pushed back on his forehead from how many times he’s run his fingers through it. His hands are stuffed in his pockets and he’s staring at the ground so hard he doesn’t even notice Clarke watching him. 

His shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep breath, "I figured tonight might be my last chance to try to fix what I broke. I was hoping it wasn’t too late." 

Clarke heart stops. A feeling verging on hope starts to flutter in her chest. 

"You…” she breathes, taking a step towards him, “...You wanted to fix things?" 

Bellamy finally looks up, his gaze glassy. 

There are still so many miles between them, but when Bellamy takes a step towards her, affection flickering in his eyes, he crosses that space like it’s nothing.

"Clarke, I love you,” he says. A fact. A truth. Not a shadow of doubt in his voice. “I don't think I'll ever stop loving you and I’m so sorry I walked away. God, I should never have walked away from you."

"I love you too," she says. A breathless confession.

Bellamy blinks, her words registering a beat late. Then he blinks again and takes a step towards her. Clarke’s knees feel weak, her heart feels like it might be on the verge of collapse. There are six inches of space between their mouths. She can’t stop staring at Bellamy’s lips.

"You still...?" he asks like there could ever be a world in which Clarke doesn’t love him.

She nods.

"I'm sorry." 

"Me too."

"You were right about Octavia."

"I shouldn't have pushed you on it."

"I shouldn't have pushed you away."

“Just don’t do it again,” she says, finally finally finally closing the distance between their mouths. 

Her hand pushes into his hair, his arms wrap around her waist. 

Bellamy kisses her and Clarke kisses him and for the first time in months the stars are smiling and there's no weight on her shoulders. She feels light and happy and full. She wants to laugh until she cries. She wants to dance in the rain. She never wants to stop kissing Bellamy back. He's back he's back he's back. Oh god, she missed him.

She kisses him and he kisses her and they whisper ‘I love you’ when they pause to catch their breath. 

And, this time, even after they part, neither one of them lets go.


	5. Amnesia AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Modern AU where Clarke gets into a car accident and wakes up with no memory of the past five years.
> 
> prompt: "the way you said I love you: as an apology; over your shoulder; in a blissful sigh as you fall asleep; as a goodbye."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all nominated me for Best Angst Author in the BFF Awards so, in a way, you asked for this... <3
> 
>  ~~Let me know if you want a part two of this story!!~~ **UPDATE:** [I posted this separately with a part two!!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7688014/chapters/17513533)

**part I: as an apology**

Clarke wakes up to the beep of a machine, a dry mouth and a stabbing pain behind her eyes. When she opens her eyes, she finds herself in a dark room. It’s night outside her window. She turns her head to look around, but the world tilts and pain lances through her skull. 

It’s only when Clarke tries to bring her hand up to her head, that she notices the man attached to it. He’s asleep with his head on the mattress beside her and Clarke’s only impression is messy black curls, soft, slow breaths, and a large, warm hand holding onto hers.

She doesn’t recognize the man at all and Clarke tries to pull her hand away without waking him, but he stirs almost immediately. The stranger sits up, rubbing his eyes, and Clarke catches sight of a hard jawline and the barest hint of freckles. She shifts on the bed and it creaks making the man look up. They lock eyes and, God, he’s handsome. Beautiful, even. With expressive eyes and a mouth Clarke longs to paint despite the fact that she gave up on art when her dad died two years ago.

Clarke’s still distracted by the stranger’s face when he speaks. And, God, his voice too. A deep, low baritone that reminds Clarke of vinyl on a record player.

Clarke’s so busy taking in all the details of this stranger that she doesn’t even pay attention to what he’s actually saying until, “Fuck, Clarke, I’m so sorry. I love you and I never should have—"

“You what?” Clarke interrupts. Her voice is hoarse and the words barely make it out. Her head thumps when she clears her throat and Clarke tries to bring her hand up only to this time find it tethered to tubes and wires. Her breath starts to get shallow when she takes in the room around her again, the fog in her head finally starting to clear. There’s a saline bag by her bed and wires hooked up to her heart. A machine beeps beside her and there’s a red button by her hand. Shoes squeak and Clarke catches sight of a woman in scrubs passing by in the hallway. She takes a deep breath and her lungs fill with the smell of disinfectant, fear, and death. 

She’s in a hospital and she’s starting to panic.

The stranger’s speaking, but Clarke doesn’t pay attention and interrupts his words with her own frantic ones.

“Where—where am I? What happened?” 

The last time Clarke was in a hospital her dad died. And while that was two years ago, this is still too soon. And Clarke has no idea what happened. She has no idea where she ended up here. Without the presence of anyone she knows. 

Where is Wells? Where is her mom? Why is this stranger the only person at her bedside?

“Clarke, Clarke, shh. It’s okay. You’re okay. You were in a car accident and you hit your head. Do you remember any of what happened?" The stranger’s voice is calm and her panic doesn’t disappear, but it slows.

Clarke shakes her head, straining to remember. The man beside her takes her hand and she finds the gesture soothing despite the fact that she’s never met him before. Oddly, he seems to know her though.

“I—I’m sorry, are you a nurse? Where’s my family?” 

The man lets go of her hand and takes a step back. Something like dread creeps into his features and Clarke’s heart drops in her chest.

“It’s me, Clarke. Bellamy.” She frowns, trying to place where she must have met him. Did they meet before the car crash? No, didn’t he tell her he loved her when she woke up? Clarke feels nauseous, her head hurts and she feels like she’s thinking too slow. She feels like she can’t hold on to too many thoughts at once.

The man—Bellamy—runs a hand through his hair, looking increasingly agitated.

“You—you don’t—you don’t know who I am?” Bellamy’s voice wobbles on the last words.

For some reason, Clarke desperately wants to tell Bellamy that she does remember. She wants to reach for his hand and she doesn’t know why. But that’s the problem: she doesn’t know why. She doesn’t _know_ him.

“I—I’m sorry. I don’t…” she swallows, “I don’t remember."

Clarke watches the words land. She sees them strike Bellamy like a punch in the gut. He falters and takes another step back—another step away. His hand clenches on the nape on his neck and his eyes become two shards of broken glass.

“Clarke,” the way Bellamy says her name breaks her heart. It’s like some part of her somehow knows what he’s going to say even before he says it. “I’m your boyfriend. We’ve known each other for five years."

(It’s amazing how someone Clarke doesn’t even remember can still manage break her heart.)

 

**part II: over your shoulder**

The doctor tells Clarke she has amnesia. Turns out she’s twenty-five not twenty, but every moment of the past five years is gone. 

It’s been seven years, not two, since her dad died and Clarke is a fairly successful artist living in New York city with her boyfriend, Bellamy. 

(Somehow it’s Bellamy and not the time that feels like the biggest loss.)

Luckily, though, Wells is still part of her life. He comes to see Clarke the morning after she wakes up and pulls her into his arms like they’re still two kids and Clarke just fell off the swingset on the playground. She cries into his shoulder and Wells rubs circles into her back. She’s tired and overwhelmed and just seeing a familiar face lifts so much off her shoulders. Clarke’s grateful that somehow, through everything, her best friend has always been a constant all her life. She hopes that never changes. 

Over Wells’ shoulder, Clarke catches sight of Bellamy in the hallway, two coffees in hand. He stands there, frozen, looking somehow both relieved and disappointed. He’s too caught up in his own thought to notice Clarke looking. He doesn’t know that she’s watching when he turns around and walks back the way he came barely pausing to throw the second cup of coffee in the trash. 

Bellamy’s barely left Clarke’s side since she woke up, but they’ve also barely spoken since. He’s present, but always just outside her reach. He consults with doctors, chats with nurses, fills in friends and family over the phone, but barely even looks at her. 

She sees Bellamy break once, while he’s talking to someone on the phone. She sees tears drip down his cheek, but she’s not close enough to hear what he’s saying. And when he returns to the room, his features are schooled back into calm .

“Who was that?” she asks carefully, trying to not to give away that’d she’d seen him.

“Miller,” Bellamy runs a hand through his hair. That seems to be his M.O. when he’s nervous, “Miller’s my best friend. You two… I introduced you two not long after we met.”

Clarke nods. Miller. Another person her accident erased.

But, the truth is, even though Clarke’s the one missing the past five years, it feels like Bellamy’s really the one dealing with loss. Clarke sees it every time he runs a hand through his hair, every time he catches her watching him and plasters a fake smile in his face. 

(She doesn’t even know him and she can still tell he doesn’t mean it. She can still tell he’s in pain. He’s a man who wears his heart on his sleeve. Or rather, in his eyes. His eyes tell her truths his lips can’t bear.)

Bellamy’s there when the doctor tells Clarke that there’s a high chance her memory will return. That the damage to her brain wasn’t severe and that they’re hopeful that as her brain heals, she’ll recover the memories she’s missing. (But of course there’s a but.) But there’s still a small chance that nothing will come back. That Clarke will never recover any of the five years she lost. 

Clarke’s gaze goes to Bellamy when the doctor tells her. She catches the flash of raw fear as it flits across his face.

She turns back to the doctor.

“What can I do? How do I help myself remember?” she asks, determined. She doesn’t know what she lost, but Clarke’s smart enough to realize that she wants it back. 

“Well, my recommendation is that you go home and take it easy. Let your friends take you to the places you used to hang out and see if anything jogs your memory. The memories will come back naturally when it’s time."

Clarke swallows, “And if the memories don’t come back?"

The doctor smiles sadly, “Then you make new ones."

…

Wells comes back the next day and it’s easier with him there. It’s always been easier to face things with her best friend by her side. 

It’s a Sunday so Wells doesn’t have work. Clarke smiles when he tells her that he teaches biology at the local high school. He brings her a hot chocolate (with extra whipped cream) and sits cross legged at the end of her bed, taking up a ridiculous amount of space while he does his best to fill her in on the past five years. But, with so much lost time, there’s only so much he can say.

While Wells catches her up, Bellamy sits in the hallway, working, the door closed between them. And every so often, Clarke’s eyes catch on his form. 

“Was I happy?” Clarke finds herself asking.

Wells follows her gaze to the hallway where Bellamy’s talking emphatically on the phone, using his free hand to gesture expressively. It’s endearing and Clarke smiles without meaning to. Bellamy seems to care so much about everything he does.

“Yeah, you were.”

Wells tells Clarke how she and Bellamy met during her junior year of college when Bellamy was the TA for her class. 

According to Wells, Clarke’s friendship with Bellamy began with Clarke pouring coffee over his head. 

She’d gone back a few days later to apologize when she realized that he’d been right about the mistake in her paper. As a peace offering, Clarke had offered to buy Bellamy coffee and, bizarrely, he’d said yes. Friendship followed easily after that.

“He must have been love with you from the start,” Wells laughs, “No sane person would ever forgive someone for pouring coffee on them that easily."

“To be fair, I was an asshole about how I pointed out the mistake, so I kind of deserved it."

Clarke looks over to find Bellamy’s smiling in the doorway. She smiles back on instinct.

“I hope the coffee at least wasn’t hot."

Bellamy looks at her, half present, half caught in the memory, he shrugs. 

“It was worth it."

...

Wells can’t get off work the next day so it’s just Clarke and Bellamy when she gets discharged from the hospital. 

She’s in yoga pants and a tank top and the few seconds she’s outside as she walks from the hospital to Bellamy’s car are unbearably hot. It’s New York in July and the temperature’s in the nineties. Thankfully, Bellamy blasts the air-conditioning on the drive to their apartment while Clarke immediately pulls her hair up in a top knot.

They take the elevator to the seventh floor. Wells told Clarke that she’s been living with Bellamy for over a year, but, of course, she doesn’t remember. She follows Bellamy down the hall to 7C and when he puts the key in the lock he looks at her over his shoulder and a memory unfolds, almost pale with the passage of time.

The day they moved in wasn’t as hot as the current one, but they had both been dripping with sweat from lugging all their boxes to the elevator and into the apartment.

_Clarke groans at the weight of the box in her hands as she follows Bellamy down the hall._

_“God, why did I have to date such a nerd? No one normal has this many books.”_

_Bellamy stops in front of the door, balancing his own box against the wall to free his hand and turn the nob. He looks over his shoulder and smiles. Sweaty, flushed, and bright._

_“I love you,” he says, easy and fond._

_Clarke laughs and drops her box in the hallway to pull Bellamy down into—_

“Clarke? You okay?” 

She shakes herself, blinking away the memory and returning to the present. Bellamy’s standing just inside the doorframe. His hair is different now than it was when they moved in. It’s shorter on the sides, but still long on top. And, in the present, Bellamy wears a frown instead of a smile.

Clarke pauses and looks at him, the reality of how much she lost finally starting to hit her. She was so _happy_ the day she moved in. (Was she that happy all the time with Bellamy?)

It takes her a moment to realize Bellamy’s waiting for an answer.

Clarke swallows, “Yeah,” she says, “Yeah, I’m good.” 

She walks into her apartment, determination in hand. She’s going to remember this. She’s going to remember _them._

 

**part III: in a blissful sigh as you fell asleep**

The reality isn’t as easy as she planned. Clarke’s memory comes in pieces. She moves back into the apartment she used to live in. She sleeps in the bed she used to own. But the man she used to share it all with falls asleep every night on the couch. 

With Bellamy, things are awkward. How could it not be? She’s too much to him and he’s too little to her. Even their silences feel uneven. 

Still, every now and then, they have good moments.

Like the day Bellamy asks Clarke to hand him a book and she pauses tracing her fingers across the cover of The Iliad.

“This is you favorite book, isn’t it?” she asks, her voice quiet enough to be a whisper.

Bellamy sets his laptop aside and stands up. Hope raw in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he whispers, “it is. Do you—”

She shakes her head already knowing what question he’s about to ask. The same question he asks every time she remembers something: _do you remember anything else?_  
But the answer is always no.

Clarke remembers the day they moved in. She remembers his favorite book. She remembers the day they got caught in a thunderstorm and kissed in the rain. 

She remembers certain scenes and certain details, but she doesn’t remember enough. And it weighs on both of them.

Being around her other friends helps. There’s not as much pressure. Not as much at stake. Wells comes by all the time, usually with Raven, another friend Clarke remembers, her roommate sophomore year. Clarke meets (or re-meets) Monty and Miller. She learns that she was working with Monty on a graphic novel and that Miller and Bellamy both have jobs at the same museum.

And through all the remembering, re-meeting, re-learning, Clarke tries to remain hopeful—tries to keep believing things will get better. But it’s hard. Everything she doesn’t know, everything she’s lost, and everything she struggles to remember, weighs on her. It’s all so heavy and her knees are buckling with the strain. Her whole life is a reminder of everything she’s forgotten.

She’s grateful when Raven sweeps into her apartment one Friday evening, followed closely by Wells, and announces that tonight they’re getting drunk.

“God knows we could use some alcohol around here. Things have been too serious lately.”

And, well, Clarke couldn’t agree more.

Inspired by the fact that the last thing Clarke remembers is college, Raven suggests that they have a college-style party. Bellamy’s eyes go wide as soon as she says it. He starts to protest when Raven amends her suggestion. 

“I just meant that we should all hang out, get drunk on cheap liquor, and pretend that our problems don’t exist.” Raven smiles at Bellamy, “I wasn’t suggesting you throw a kegger, old man.”

“She says like that wasn’t her first thought,” Wells supplies wryly from behind. 

Raven sticks her tongue out at him and Wells laughs, the sound warm and fond. 

Clarke was surprised at first when Wells told her that he and Raven were dating, but now she sees how they fit. They balance each other out. And Clarke can safely say that she’s never seen her best friend look at anyone the way he looks at Raven.

Raven invites Monty and Miller over and an hour later the boys show up carrying bottles of cheap flavored vodka and a barrage of sodas to use as mixers.

They’re all working adults with significantly lower tolerances than they had in college, so it’s no surprise that it doesn’t take them very long to get drunk. 

Music pumps through the bluetooth speakers Monty brought and Clarke smiles as she watches Raven and Monty sway not even attempting to match the beat.

Clarke’s eyes catch on Bellamy when he barks a laugh at the way Raven tries to dip Monty and they end up toppling over. And when Bellamy stands and heads to the kitchen, Clarke pulls her feet from Well’s lap and follows. 

“You having fun?” she asks, leaning against the doorframe.

Bellamy stoops to grab another beer out of the fridge before turning to face her. He’s been drinking, but his eyes are clear and Clarke feels out of her depth. She always does with Bellamy. His eyes reveal so much. And she doesn’t know what to do with all the things he lets her see.

“Yeah, I’m having a good time.”

Clarke taps her finger against his beer bottle, “Good, you deserve a drink.”

Bellamy’s smile softens, “So do you, you know.”

“I don’t know, I don’t want to risk forgetting anything else.” 

It’s meant to be a joke, but it falls flat. There’s a pause in which neither one of them speaks and Clarke worries that she snapped the moment between them.

She tries to recover it, “Did we used to get drunk a lot? Back in college?”

When Bellamy shakes his head and chuckles, the knot in Clarke’s chest eases.

“No, you and I were always the ones taking care of everyone else. We were always making sure Miller got home alright and Raven didn’t puke over anyone else’s sneakers.”

“Anyone _else?_ ”

Bellamy laughs and they head back into the living room together while he tells Clarke about the time Raven puked all over some frat boy’s sperrys. 

Clarke spends the rest of the night with Bellamy. Tipsy but aware and kept warm by alcohol and the tilt of Bellamy’s smile.

She does end up having a few more drinks, but she doesn’t realize their effect until she stands up and she sways. Bellamy steadies her with a solid hand on her waist. 

“You okay there?” he asks, amused. They’re the last ones awake, kept up by their own talking, but now Clarke’s starting to feel the exhaustion that already hit everyone else.

“Shouldn’t have had that last beer,” she mutters, annoyed at herself.

Bellamy’s smile is too fond and Clarke just barely stops herself from pressing her fingers to it.

“Here,” he says “I’ll help.” He hooks an arm around her waist and it feels like no time at all before they’ve made it to the room. Clarke trips into the bed, not even bothering to pull off her jeans.

“Thank you,” she says into her pillow.

Bellamy’s laugh is warm. God, everything about him is so _warm._

“No problem. Need help getting under the covers?” 

Clarke nods, too sleepy and too lazy to do it herself. But Bellamy manages to get her upright again and he pulls back the covers before she falls into bed, heavy with the need to sleep.

“I wish I remember loving you, Bellamy” she whispers. 

Clarke’s eyes are closed and she can’t hear him, but somehow she knows Bellamy’s still there.

“It would be really easy to fall in love with you,” she murmurs. 

She feels Bellamy’s hand brush a lock of hair from her forehead and then nothing else, already asleep.

  


**part IV: as a goodbye**

Three weeks after the car crash, Clarke remembers. 

She’s at the gallery filling out the paperwork on a commission when she walks into the her studio and memory comes flooding back.

The night she remembers can’t have been more than a week before the crash. She’d been at the studio all day trying to get a piece done and it had was already dark outside when Bellamy called.

_“Babe, you’ve been working for eight hours. I think you need to take a break.”_

_Clarke sighs into her phone and sets down her brush. She always loses time when she paints and she and Bellamy agreed a long time ago that he’d only make her stop when she really needed to._

_She holds the phone between her ear and shoulder while she uses a grey towel to clean her hands._

_“Okay, okay, I’m stopping.” Clarke slides on her watch and notices the time, “Fuck, it’s almost nine o’clock. Bell, please tell me you got chinese food for dinner.”_

_“You wanted chinese food?”_

_“Oh, shit, I totally forgot to tell you this morning, didn’t **—”**_

**__**“Turn around.”

_She turns and finds Bellamy standing there, holding his phone in one hand and a huge bag of carryout from Clarke’s favorite chinese restaurant in the other._

_Bellamy smiles when Clarke drops her phone and rushes over to kiss him. There’s dried paint in her hair and she probably smells like acrylic, but he returns the the kiss happily, smiling when she pulls away from his lips._

_He sets the bag of food on the floor and Clarke sits down across from him. They eat their dinner right out of the cartons, sitting on her studio floor. Bellamy snorts when Clarke tries to tell him she loves him around a mouthful of low mein._

_“What was that?”_

_She swallows, “I said, I love you.”_

_“Oh, see, it sounds different when you’re not saying it with your mouth full.”_

_Clarke shoves Bellamy’s shoulder and he nudges her back with a grin. She leans over and kisses him, setting her carton aside. She quickly gets distracted by Bellamy’s mouth. She’s been working on this piece for days and it feels like forever since she’s seen him. Bellamy tastes like orange chicken and Clarke smiles when he tugs her bottom lip between his teeth like she loves. She pushes him back until she has enough room to crawl into his lap. Her hands slide into his hair and his breath escapes in hot pants against her lips._

_They kiss and kiss and kiss. Like they’re teenagers. Like this is the main event. Clarke kisses Bellamy and makes up her mind about something she’s been considering for a long, long time._

_She pulls away, but doesn’t go far, staying close enough that her nose still bumps against Bellamy’s._

_“Will you marry me?”_

_Bellamy blinks at Clarke, the first time in her life that she’s seen him truly speechless. He pulls her back down and kisses her and kisses her and kisses her until they both need to catch their breath._

_“You have terrible timing, you know,” Bellamy pants, kissing his way down her throat. “I was going to propose after you finished this commission.”_

_“You snooze you lose.”_

_Bellamy kisses her again, “If this is what losing feels like, I don’t mind it much.”_

_Clarke laughs, “You haven’t even given me an answer yet, asshole.”_

_“Oh, shit, yes,” he stutters, his laugh breathy and carefree, “Of course it’s yes.”_

Clarke doesn’t even realize she’s crying until a tear drips onto her neck. She was going to marry him. She was going to _marry him._

It’s too much.

Clarke rushes back to the apartment and shoves the first clothes she can find into a duffel bag. She’s writing the note when she hears the apartment door open and close. Looks like she’ll have to do this in person.

Bellamy startles when Clarke comes into the living room. He’s not expecting her there since she was supposed to be at her gallery all afternoon.

Immediately, he realizes something is wrong.

“Clarke, are you okay? What happened?” Bellamy takes a step forward, but he doesn’t reach for her. 

He’s always stopping himself from reaching for her and Clarke’s always noticing how much it hurts him. All Clarke ever does is hurt Bellamy. And she’s about to again.

“I have to go,” she says.

Clarke sees the moment Bellamy’s eyes catch sight of the duffel bag and the reality of what’s happening registers.

“Why? What happened? This morning we were fine.”

“No, Bellamy,” she chokes on his name. “We weren’t fine. None of this is fine.” She swallows her tears, “I asked you to marry me,” she whispers.

Bellamy’s face cracks, “You remembered.” He takes another step forward and this time Clarke takes a step back, “but, Clarke, that’s good. It means—”

She cuts him off, “No, Bellamy, you don’t get it. I remember pieces. Fragments. But I don't remember the whole picture. I remember telling you that I love you and remember you saying it back, but I don’t remember the moments it took us to get there. I remember asking you to marry me, but I don’t remember our first date.” Clarke’s crying and Bellamy is too, but she doesn’t know what else to do. “I don’t remember enough and it’s not fair to you or to me to keep pretending like half a love story is the same as a whole one.”

Bellamy stares at her, his heart bleeding through his eyes. He looks at her for a long time.

“Where will you go?”

“I’m going to stay with Wells for couple weeks. After that, I don’t know.”

Bellamy nods. Clarke doesn’t know if she’s grateful or disappointed that he not fighting her on this. He moves to the side so she can walk past. She pauses in the door.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

Clarke pretends she doesn’t hear Bellamy respond with ‘I love you’ just before the door clicks shut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **UPDATE:** [read part two!!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7688014/chapters/17513533)

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't forget to leave kudos & a comment!
> 
> You can send me prompts on **[my tumblr](http://antebellamy.tumblr.com/ask)** <3


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